The Emperor of Our Nation_Love from fire_Night of the Flaming Cow_home of the brave
Catalog Guide:
The Emperor of Our Nation
“Jack, can you imagine if we had Twitter in our day?”“I know, Bobby. The civil rights movement would have happened a lot faster.”“What about in your day, Abe?”“I dare say, young Bobby, the war could have gone very differently.”Jim and Billy entered the room, our favourite to get together and spook the staff when they worked late for the sitting president. “I wonder how many conspiracy theories would have surfaced if we had Twitter back in our day,” said Jim, referring to the stories about my brother’s murder.“He, he. Fake news!” It was Billy. After Billy’s murder, presidents were given Secret ...
Love from fire
"There's still someone in there Nathan, but she said she's not coming out until she find what she's looking for"."Shit I'll go in now, take that woman to the ambulance so that they can take care of her". After watching James pulling the wounded woman towards the ambulance, I started running back into the building. As I got into the building, I started shouting in case she might hear me. As I got into an office, I saw a woman in her early twenties choking as she was trying to grab hold of the table in front of her so she could stand up. I ran towards her and knelt beside her holding her head t...
Night of the Flaming Cow
The Bahai-Rama was awash in light and laughter. Swirling, bubbling lights swept over the crowds of beautiful people, bursts of fire exploded in the face of the yellow moon above them, and music of all kinds rumbled from the corners of the yacht.Women in gauzy yellow butterfly dresses flocked around men in high scarlet collars breathing fire. A man with three monkeys hanging from his shoulders stood on his head and sang a love song to a blushing lady whose neck and face were painted in gracefully whirling, gleaming colors of bloodred and mellow gold, like a mating peacock in full bloom. A grand...
home of the brave
//tw: racismThere are only three words running through my head as I shuffle toward my bathroom: hair, teeth, face.My feet are bare as I flit down the hallway, barely making contact with the dirty carpet. Recently, this house has felt stifling, faintly reminiscent of a loudly distant aunt who demands a hug and holds on for far too long. When I look up at the dingy walls, the cloudy windows, I feel my lungs squeezing. Or maybe that’s the constant knot of anxiety in my stomach, tied tightly enough that it sits there like a rock all day, every day.The mirror is crooked when I walk in, which is a f...